The sound of the authoress' laughter followed Alex as he made his way out of the room, the fury he had been working so hard to control threatening to bubble over and cause a catastrophe.
Chapter Nine
She needed to escape.
Hestia's heart pounded in her chest as she pushed her way through the drawing room, past so many unfamiliar faces and out into the hallway. She closed the door behind her firmly, wondering how best to extricate herself from the unbelievable situation that had suddenly been thrust upon her.
Lord Delaney was her guardian?
The idea was so absurd, that if she had not been in such a panic, she would have laughed. How had her father thought to appoint the Marquess of Falconbridge as her legal guardian? She could think of no connection that would tie the perfect and respectable Lord Delaney to her criminal father --except...
Her mother.
A conversation that Hestia had heard, all those years ago, came back to her. Her mother's cousin Amelia had married a Marquess; it must have been Falconbridge.
Oh, this was terrible, for it meant that the already overbearing, self-entitled Lord had every right to act in his usual bossy manner around her --even more so, as he was her guardian. He would be even more insufferable than usual, now he had this to leverage over her. Hestia scurried up the hallway, determined to flee the boarding house and the village of St Jarvis at once.
She would never solve the mystery of what had happened to her father if Lord Delaney thought he was in charge of her. He would lock her up in some God forsaken estate, for her own safety and protection, and leave her there until she was a dusty old maid. Hestia quickened her pace and would have made it to freedom, had her way not been blocked by Jane and Lord Payne, who were engaged in an amorous embrace.
"Oh, Belinda, it's you!" Jane broke away from her betrothed at the sound of Hestia's footsteps, her face beet-red with embarrassment. Lord Payne, on the other hand, did not look in the least bit bashful at having been caught out kissing his future bride, instead he looked pleased as punch.
"I need to go--I need to go--" Hestia stuttered, wishing she could just shove the pair out of her way.
"Oh-ho!" Lord Payne nodded in understanding, "I think you'll find it's upstairs somewhere."
"I beg your pardon?" Hestia, who had been distracted by the sound of the drawing room door opening, turned to look at Lord Payne in confusion. Realisation dawned on her, after a moment, and her face flamed as red as Jane's. "No. Not that, my Lord. I need to go outside. Now. Please excuse me."
The lovestruck pair stood back, to allow Hestia pass, their faces wearing identical expressions of confusion.
"But where are you going, Belinda?" Jane asked, her brow creased in a frown; she was unused to the meek and timid Belinda Bowstock acting in such a firm manner. But she was not Belinda Bowstock, Hestia thought grimly, she was Hestia B. Stockbow and she needed to flee.
"She is going nowhere."
It was too late, she thought, as she turned to find the towering form of the Marquess behind her --though it had always been too late, for her plan had been silly, born out of panic. There was no way that she would have out-run Lord Delaney with a mere three second head start. Observing his dark, angry face, Hestia thought that she'd need a three week head start if she was actually to stand a chance.
"Good heavens, my Lord," Jane, who was usually a most mild mannered individual, rounded on the Marquess, wagging her finger as she spoke. "I will not have you terrify my companion again. You've already done it once and now you seek to do it once more--with witnesses, no less! Whatever has come over you? You usually have impeccable manners."
"What has come over me?" Lord Delaney questioned mildly, his eyes on Hestia. "Do you know, Miss Deveraux, I'm not certain that I could explain it properly myself. Why don't you ask Miss Hestia Stockbow here to fill you in on a few details you might be missing?"
"Who on earth is Hestia Stockbow?" Jane looked from Hestia to the Marquess, and back again, in confusion.
"I am."
Never before had Hestia silenced a room, but there was always a first for everything, she thought wryly as her quiet confession rendered her mistress and Lord Payne mute.
"Stockbow, Stockbow...Why does that name sound so familiar?" Jane pondered aloud, after an eternity of silence.
"My father was in the papers of late," Hestia mumbled, her cheeks burning red. "David Stockbow..."
"Oh, the pirate!" Lord Payne exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement. "Why, you never said Belinda, I mean Hestia. I mean. Lud, I don't know what I mean."
"I was afraid that I would not find a position unless I lied about my family name," Hestia ignored Lord Payne's confused outburst and turned, instead to Jane. "I am sorry that I misled you Jane, and I beg your forgiveness."
"Pshaw,"Jane waved an airy hand, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Of course you had to lie, my dear. Emily's mother would never have accepted you for the position if there had been any hint of a scandal attached to you. Oh, Hestia, you should have told me! I have so many questions, piracy is a most fascinating topic. Did you know that the earliest documented instance of pirates attacking, was in the 14th century, when the so-called Sea Peoples attacked the ships of the Aegean and Mediterranean civilisations?"
"No,I did not know that" Hestia bit her lip to keep the giggles that were threatening at bay. Did Miss Deveraux honestly think that her father's murky past was an opportunity for an impromptu history lesson?
"Oh, but piracy has a most fascinating history that stretches back even further than this century," Jane continued, buoyed by her favourite topic of conversation, "Ancient Greeks actually condoned piracy as a viable profession; it apparently was widespread and regarded as an perfectly honourable way of making a living."
"Is that so?" Hestia asked, her eyebrows raised in what she hoped was an expression of interest, rather than the bemusement she actually felt.
"Oh, yes. I know when I was studying--"
"Excuse me," the Marquess finally found his voice, interrupting Jane mid-speech. "We are not here for a lecture on the history of pirates. We are here to discuss Miss Hestia Stockbow; your companion and my ward."
"Your ward?"
Judging by the expression of horror on Jane's face, she found the idea that Hestia was the Marquess's ward far more shocking than the fact that her companion's father had once been a thief of the high seas. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Hestia would have laughed, for Jane was full of surprises.
"Yes. My ward," the Marquess cast Hestia a possessive glance, "And once we return to London, she will be my bride."
"Hold up, old fellow. Did I miss something?" Lord Payne asked in bemusement, "I thought I just heard you say that you intend to marry Miss Bowstock --I mean Stockbow."
"I do," the Marquess spoke in a pompous manner, drawing himself up to his full height as he did so. "For two reasons, the first being that she needs the protection of my name, the second being that I compromised her honour."
"You did not compromise my honour," Hestia interjected testily --who did he think he was, announcing that to her employer? All they had shared was a brief kiss, and no one would ever have known of it, if he hadn't blabbered so.
"Yes, I did," Lord Delaney smiled at her in a most patronising manner. "That night in the Library in Hawkfield Manor."
"That was just a kiss," Hestia snapped, his self satisfied smile filling her with rage. "A mere peck, stolen I might add, by you."
She watched in satisfaction as the Marquess turned a rather alarming shade of red at her dismissive remark. It gave her a slight thrill to know that she could fluster him in the same way that he had left her flustered in the library.
"Nevertheless, your honour was compromised, and we must wed," Falconbridge stated, through gritted teeth, obviously deciding to ignore her.
"My honour was not compromised, though if you insist on shouting that it was people will start to believe you."
Hestia and the Marquess we
re squared off in the centre of the hallway, almost nose to nose, and they would surely have begun a most undignified shouting match, had Lord Payne not spoken.
"How would that work out then, Falconbridge, I wonder?" he asked casually, a grin threatening to erupt across his handsome face. "You being Miss Stockbow's guardian, would mean that to defend her honour, you'd have to call the man who allegedly besmirched it out. Though you can't very well call yourself out, now can you?"
"No, I can't."
Hestia thought that the Marquess's head might explode, or at the very least steam might start pouring out his ears, as he digested Lord Payne's silly observation. The laughter that had been threatening finally bubbled over and she found herself wiping tears of mirth away.
"She's hysterical with nerves," Falconbridge muttered, glancing at Hestia in alarm. Even Jane looked rather worried as she took in the sight of her companion, bent double, as laughter wracked her frame.
"I shall have to send for a physician," Falconbridge continued, running an agitated hand through his thick hair. "She'll need some smelling salts --or perhaps a tonic of some sort."
"What I need," Hestia, who had finally stopped laughing said, "Is a cup of tea and a rational discussion on what I am supposed to do, now that the secret of my identity has been revealed."
She would never know what the Marquess's response to her demands would have been, for a cheerful Northern voice spoke, startling them all.
"I don't know much about secret identities," a flame haired woman said cheerfully, as she came bustling down the hallway. "But I do know a lot about tea, and I know that Mrs Actrol has asked that I serve my best brew in the parlour for her old friend Hestia --and anyone who has an interest in Hestia's wellbeing."
Hestia watched, overwhelmed with gratitude, as Jane gave a firm nod and said; "That would be me."
"And me," the Marquess added.
Fiddlesticks.
It was rather a surreal experience, watching three people discuss her future as though she were not there. Mrs Actrol, Jane and the Marquess of Falconbridge had been going back and forth for the past half hour, arguing amongst themselves on the best course of action for Hestia's future.
Jane was adamant that Hestia stay with her, while the Marquess kept making dark noises about London and special licences, that Jane did her best to ignore.
The debate was chaired by Mrs Actrol, who would interject occasionally, to question the two on minor details that they had overlooked.
"Stockbow made you the executioner of his will, Falconbridge," the older woman stated, her blue eyes thoughtful behind her spectacles, "Did he leave Hestia anything of worth?"
"Just the cottage near Truro," Falconbridge shrugged dismissively, "Which would be better off condemned, than lived in. He left no money, just several small debts, which have been looked after."
Hestia flushed at this, who had looked after them? She glanced sideways at the Marquess, whose face was impassive, and knew instinctively that it had been him. Oh, she was already in his debt and she had no way of paying him back.
"Could you live there happily, Hestia?" Mrs Actrol questioned gently. "It has been your home for all your life, after all."
Hestia thought of the tumbledown cottage, where both her father and mother's lives had ended so sadly. She thought of the village, where she had few friends, and would have even fewer now because of the scandal, and shook her head.
"I think I would be best to stay in a large town or city," she decided firmly, "Your sister was right, Mrs Actrol, when she said that there was no future for me there."
She did not want to say it aloud, especially in front of the Marquess, but Hestia knew that one day she wanted to marry and have children, and nobody would offer for her with such a chequered family history.
"I don't know why we're even discussing this," the Marquess drawled in annoyance. His dark gaze caught Hestia's, leaving her slightly breathless at its intensity. "Miss Stockbow is my ward, as her legal guardian any decisions to be made on her future will be made by me."
"While dictating to the girl sounds nice in theory, my Lord," Mrs Actrol responded in a mildly amused tone. "It will not work in practice. Did you not see her bolt from the room today? She very nearly got away from you. Given an undesirable situation and time to formulate a plan, Hestia will disappear altogether."
The Marquess made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a cough, clearly annoyed by the older woman's rationale. For a moment Hestia felt a thrill of victory, until the authoress looked at her sternly over her spectacles.
"That's not to say that I don't think what the Marquess is offering you is your best option, Hestia," she said grimly. "Your situation is most dire. The protection of his name would grant you leave to live a full life, which you otherwise may never be able to do. Stability, comfort, a title; these are not things to turn your nose up at, my dear."
"What about love?" Jane spoke quietly, turning her blushing face to Lord Payne as she spoke. Hestia flinched at the mention of that word; love had led her parents to an early grave, she wanted nothing to do with it.
"Love is a luxury," Mrs Actrol shrugged, "Respect and mutual understanding quite often act as the best foundations for a marriage."
"It's lucky I don't lack for confidence," the Marquess snorted, as the group descended into a thoughtful silence. "Any other man would find having the drawbacks and benefits of his marriage proposal discussed so openly rather demoralising."
"Luckily you're not any other man," Mrs Actrol answered tartly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Hestia knew the woman well enough to know that she was rather enjoying taking the stuffy Marquess down a peg or two. "And you can understand why a girl like Hestia might be doubtful about placing her future in the hands of a man so senior."
"I am but four and thirty," the Marquess blustered with indignation, small patches of red staining his cheeks. "I hardly have one foot in the grave. Now --if you are all done, I would like to have a word alone with Miss Stockbow."
When no one made a move to leave, Falconbridge cast an icy glare around the room.
"Either you all leave, or I carry Miss Stockbow off to London this second."
"If you need me, I'll be just outside," Jane whispered as she passed Hestia. The trio traipsed out of the parlour, leaving Hestia alone with the Marquess.
Once the door had closed behind their companions, Falconbridge stood and began to pace the small room. He was so tall, she marvelled as she watched him pace to and fro upon the chintz rug; well over six foot by her estimation. Falconbridge stopped pacing abruptly, turned and ran an agitated hand through his hair.
"Honour dictates that I propose to you," he stated baldly. "It was my intention to marry you before I knew of your true identity. Learning that your safety has been entrusted to me only doubles that determination."
"I would not want you to think of me as a burden," Hestia retorted, "Or an obligation to be fulfilled."
"You are neither, I promise you that." All the acrimony had left him and he watched her with kind, sincere eyes. It would be so easy to fall in love with a man like the Marquess, Hestia thought sadly, a noble man who wanted to always do the honourable thing.
"I shall not press you, for anything that you do not wish to give, until you are ready," he added lightly. It took Hestia a moment to fully understand the weight of his words, and once she did, she felt her cheeks flame. She had not even thought of that aspect of marriage, and here he was mentioning it as casually as though he were remarking upon the weather.
"You are a clever girl, Miss Stockbow, surely you must understand that marriage is the best course of action?"
"My father was murdered," was what she finally decided upon as her response. "If we wed, my Lord, will you help me find out who did it?"
"I promise."
If the Marquess thought her request strange, his face did not betray him; instead he looked at her with thinly veiled apprehension, as though he still thought she would bolt.
&nb
sp; "Shall I take it that you consent?" he finally asked.
"I do," Hestia whispered, already wondering if she had made a grave and terrible mistake.
Chapter Ten
If Alex had forgotten how much he despised society, he was soon reminded of it a week later. It was a warm Thursday evening in St James' Square. An earlier bout of spring rain had cleared the usually smoky London sky, so that from the window of the carriage, Alex was able to see a spectacular sun setting over the rooftops.
His gaze was aimed upward, in appreciation of the heavenly sky, as if he looked out at ground level, he would most surely scream.
Traffic.
Dozens of carriages were snaking their way around the square, at a speed slower than a funeral procession, all headed in the same direction: the Duke of Hawkfield's residence. Not for the first time, Alex turned to his sister and grumbled; "It would be far quicker if we just got out and walked."
"Don't be silly, dear," Phoebe, Lady Thackery sighed. "Nobody arrives on foot to a ball, it's not the done thing."
Alex was about to retort that he did not give a fig for the "done thing", when he caught sight of Hestia's pale face. She was seated beside Phoebe, wearing an expression that one might expect to see on a man condemned to death and not a young girl on the way to her first ball. Having a great antipathy toward balls in general, Alex emphasised with her feelings, though he knew that Hestia's fears ran deeper than his own misgivings, which were purely down to his own impatience with the feckless members of the ton.
Tonight was the night that Hestia Stockbow was to meet London Society, no wonder the poor girl looked pained, for her arrival in London had been talked about by all and sunder --even warranting a column or two in the papers.
After seeing all the furore over her arrival in town, it had been decided by his sister and Miss Deveraux, that the best way to introduce Hestia to the beau monde, was as the close friend of some of society's most powerful people. The Duke and Duchess of Hawkfield, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Everleigh had been rallied to the cause, each couple promising to let it be known of their fondness for Miss Stockbow.
The Marquess of Temptation Page 7
